Unbreak My Heart
by GundamDelta6
Summary: What’s done is done. What’s passed has passed. Or has it? AU. JW/AV.
1. Prologue

Title: Unbreak My Heart

Category: House, M.D.

Pairing: Wilson/Amber

Genre: Romance/Supernatural

Set: AU of S4 finale, AU of S5

Rating: PG-13 (may change)

Summary: What's done is done. What's passed has passed. Or has it? AU

Author's Note: I know. I should be working on the tag to 5x21. I should be working on the next chapter of Golden Afternoon. I shouldn't be starting a new story. But after seeing Amber again, I felt like writing this. Starts at the end of 4x16, just after Wilson finds the note… First attempt at W/A.

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Prologue

_Sorry I'm not here. Went to pick up House. A_

He read the words over and over again, still not quite believing them. Well, he believed them, but he couldn't believe it. Nothing could make him believe it. Nothing could undo the damage caused. Nothing unsay what had been said. Undo what had been done. Uncry the tears that stained the envelope on which the note had been written. Untell the horrible truth.

She was gone, and he didn't want her to be. She was gone and it was all his fault. At the moment, though, he didn't know who he was blaming. Himself for not being here to take the call? Or _him_ for making it? He dropped his head into his hands, unable to place the blame, unable to figure any of this out.

Why did it have to be her? Why couldn't it have been some other nameless passenger on that bus? Why _her_? Why Amber? The tears had stopped coming long ago. Dry sobs wracked his body as he questioned fate.

Out of all the people in the world, it had been Amber. Out of all the people in the world, it couldn't have been someone else. Why? He pressed his hands harder against his skull as he came up with an answer.

Because the world liked being cruel to him. That was why it had been Amber. That had to be it. It also explained his screwed up childhood, his choice of profession, his string of failed marriages. Hell, it even explained his best friend. It explained everything. So, he took it as the final answer to all his problems. The world hated him, and there was no way around it.

"It should have been me," he whispered to the empty bedroom. "I should have been here. I should have answered the phone. I should have gone. It should have been me."

He lowered his hands and moved to pick the note up again, re-read the words again, hear her voice in his head again. Laying back, he held the note tightly to his chest. Turning his head, he breathed in the scent of her that clung to her pillow still.

"I miss you so much," he whispered before slipping away, the exhaustion of the day demanding that he sleep.

He awoke hours later, an incessant ringing in his skull dragging him forcefully out of his restless, dreamless sleep. It took him a moment to realize the ringing was not in his skull, but from the phone on the bedside table. He reached for it, not really wanting to speak to whoever was on the other end. Putting the phone to his ear, he heard nothing.

He was about to put the phone back down when a rough voice came through.

"James Wilson?" it asked. Wilson froze.

"Yes…" he answered, hesitantly. The voice didn't sound like one he knew. His eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"I understand you've suffered a tremendous loss." Wilson almost put the phone down. He couldn't handle this right now. "Don't hang up."

"Give me one reason," Wilson demanded. "Give me one good reason I shouldn't hang up right now."

"The pain must be unbearable. A pain no balm can heal. A pain no amount of strength can overcome. A pain that I alone can cure." Suspicions still high, Wilson clutched the phone tighter. What games was this person playing?

"I don't know who you are, or how you know about Amber…"

"I know about more than just Amber," the voice replied cryptically. "I know everything about you, as well."

"Is this House? This isn't funny."

"No. This is not House. And no one is laughing, James. No one is even smiling. I have a deal for you, James."

"A deal? The only deal I'm interested in right now is the one where I hang up, and in exchange, you never bother me again." Wilson just wanted to be left alone with his grief. The last thing he needed was someone making creepy phone calls to him and mentioning things that no one outside of the hospital knew about.

"I'm afraid I can't do that. This is too important, you see. You must take this offer. Amber's life hangs in the balance."

"No. I don't have to take anything. And if you really knew about Amber…"

"Yes, you do. And I really am very sorry for your loss, James. But there is one thing you should know."

"And that is?" Wilson asked angrily.

"That I can compensate you for any and all damages. Time is not a fixed construct." The responses were getting more and more cryptic, and Wilson was getting closer and closer to hanging up. Someone obviously thought it would be amusing to play a cruel prank on him, and he was falling for it. "This is not a prank, James. And I do wish you would stop thinking about hanging up on me. It's a very rude thing to do after all."

"Who are you?" he asked. Of course, he should have asked that at the beginning. "And how do you know what I'm thinking?"

"Who I am is of no consequence. It is what I can give you that should matter most." Wilson rolled his eyes. This was ridiculous.

"And what can you give me?" he asked, pretending to take an interest in this 'proposition'. If it would get this creepy bastard off the phone faster, Wilson was willing to do pretty much anything.

"I can give you a second chance." Wilson could swear he heard the smirk in the anonymous voice. "I can give you Amber." He swallowed the lump that rose in his throat at that. His eyes narrowed slightly, and only one thought out of many made itself known.

"You have my complete attention."

"Good. Very good. Now," the voice paused and Wilson waited. What he was waiting for, he wasn't sure. But he was waiting. "Go back to sleep. I apologize for disturbing your rest." There was a click, then a dial tone. Confusion wrapped itself tightly around Wilson's tired brain, and he set the phone back down. What had that been all about? Some twisted prank call, and he had fallen for it completely.

There was no way to turn back time. There was no way to bring Amber back to him. There was just no way.

Intense feelings of anger at the caller for making him believe for even one second that he could see Amber again, anger at himself for believing it, filled him as he lay back down, clutching his pillow and trying to go back to sleep.

It felt like hours later when he finally drifted off again.

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You can't see it, but I'm smirking evilly right now. You may think you know what the plot is, but boy are you in for it! The more people review, the faster you'll learn the twists.


	2. Chapter 1

Sorry. I've been....distracted.... Read on!  


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Chapter 1

Wilson had no idea how long he'd been asleep, but the sounds of morning drifted through the room and he cracked an eye open. The haze of sleep that clouded his vision made it almost impossible to see who was moving around the room. He raised one hand to rub the sleep from his eyes.

"It's about time you got up. I was wondering whether you were planning on sleeping all day." Wilson froze. It was impossible. Wasn't it? Blinking, he wondered where that thought had come from. Was it really that impossible for Amber to be up and moving around before him?

"What time is it?" he asked, not quite wanting to sit up. He had the strangest feeling that work had been much too stressful for him the past few days; all he wanted to do was sleep.

"Almost eight," Amber replied, making her way over to Wilson's side of the bed and looking down at him. He met her eyes, immediately noting the concern in them. "You don't look so good." She brought one hand to his head, drawing back after a moment. "You're burning up."

"I…" Wilson started, but he had no idea what he wanted to say. "I must have caught something somewhere." He pushed himself up to a sitting position, but Amber pushed him back down.

"You're calling in sick." She picked up the phone and handed it to him. Seeing no point in arguing, Wilson dialed Cuddy's cell number and waited for her to pick up. When the phone was picked up, it wasn't Cuddy's voice on the other end.

"Good morning, James." The voice was strange, and Wilson had the oddest feeling he'd heard it before. "I trust you slept well?"

Glancing quickly at Amber, Wilson figured he shouldn't give her anything to worry about, so he acted as if it was Cuddy on the other end.

"I'm not feeling so well. I don't think I'll be coming in today."

"I'm so sorry to hear that. Sounds like you'll have to be home all day."

"Yeah," he answered. "I should be feeling well enough to work tomorrow." Carefully, he did not look back up at Amber, though he knew she was watching him.

"I have instructions for you," the voice had switched abruptly to demanding and business-like, whereas it had been soft and friendly sounding before. Without waiting for Wilson to answer, it continued: "Any call that comes in at all today or tonight, you are to answer. You. Not Amber. You."

"I understand," Wilson said before hanging up and holding out the phone for Amber. "I've got the rest of the day off, and tomorrow if I need it," he told her. Since it looked like she was almost ready to leave for work, Wilson decided he would call Cuddy's office again after Amber had left to let her know.

"All right. Get plenty of rest, drink some tea." Amber looked down at Wilson, watched him nod. "I'll be home at the usual time, unless something comes up." Wilson nodded again and turned onto his side to try to get some more sleep. He wasn't really surprised that she was going to work even though he was sick. Amber couldn't afford to take time off just because her boyfriend wasn't feeling well.

He waited for a few moments after she left the room to make sure she had gone before rolling back over and picking up the phone. Dialing Cuddy's number again, he was relieved to hear her voice on the other end.

"Cuddy, it's Wilson. I don't think I'll be able to make it into work today."

"Something wrong?" Cuddy asked, the concern in her voice evident.

"Nothing horrible. I'm just feeling a little sick. I'm probably well enough to work, but I don't want to risk exposing my patients to whatever I might have," he explained. He listened to Cuddy's hum of acknowledgement.

"Stay home until you're feeling better. We don't want the whole hospital getting sick."

"Thanks, Cuddy." Wilson waited for a moment, and when it didn't seem like his boss was going to answer, he hung up and set the phone back down. He lay on his back for a few moments, willing sleep to come. When it didn't, he pushed himself out of bed. As long as he relaxed, it counted as rest right? He didn't necessarily have to sleep, did he? As he walked out of the bedroom, he stopped. His breath caught in his throat and he leaned against the doorframe.

Realization dawned, and he had to force himself to keep breathing.

This was the morning of the accident, but it was different. Amber hadn't seemed sick, though he remembered her having the flu. The medication had poisoned her. He remembered House telling him the final diagnosis, remembered the utter look of sympathy on his best friend's face as he told Wilson that Amber was going to die.

It seemed like their positions had been reversed: Wilson was the sick one and Amber was in perfect health. Wilson would be the one at home to answer House's drunken phone call. He'd be the one leaving a note for Amber. He'd be the one going to the bar to pick up his friend later that night.

And then what?

Get on a bus fated to crash and kill half a dozen people and put House in a coma?

Wilson shook his head. He was either going to drive to the bar, or he was going to call a cab. But that would be tonight. Hours from now. But knowing that his best friend was going to get drunk and need a ride home that night made it difficult for Wilson to relax. It also raised another question.

Was he the only one who knew that time was repeating? Amber hadn't acted like she was reliving a day. And since he wasn't going to work, he couldn't watch everyone else to know if they were aware of the backwards time jump. Shaking his head, he made his way to a chair and fell back into it.

He couldn't act like he knew what was fated to happen. He couldn't. It would seem weird. And if he was going to be the one picking House up that night, he definitely did not want to be acting weird.

Well. This was certainly going to be interesting.

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Hope it won't take so long to get the next chapter out, but I can't make any promises.


	3. Chapter 2

Sorry it took so long to get this one out...i've been having computer issues....mostly with the charger. And i've been distracted by the Sims...anyway, I recently got massively inspired for this one, so...I'm hoping to have more updates, though it might have to wait until i get either a new computer or a new charger....  


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Chapter 2

Most of the day passed as a haze. There were some bits he could remember, but the majority of it was barely a fuzzy memory. There had been nothing on the television, no visitors, and no more creepy phone calls. Wilson routinely checked the clocks, keeping an eye on the time. It seemed like he grew more anxious with every hour that passed, and he told himself it was only because he had no idea what would happen when the call came in. He had no idea what he was going to do.

Amber's usual return time came and went, and Wilson tensed. He figured that he would have to leave a note for her when House called. Which he was definitely not looking forward to. He had to decide quickly how he was going to do this. Knowing now what the night had in store, he figured that taking the bus was completely out of the question. He would take his car. And the backroads. Wilson didn't want to be anywhere near that bus crash. He put the phone next to his chair and tried to relax.

At exactly eight pm, the phone rang, startling Wilson out of sleep. He hadn't even been aware that he'd fallen asleep in the first place. Shaking his head, he reached for the phone, accepting the call. Placing it to his ear, he dreaded hearing the voice on the other end.

"Wilson?" it asked.

"House?" Wilson guessed, or tried making it sound like a guess. Hearing the confirmation from the other end, he continued. "I'm here…"

"Lissen, Wilson…I'ma need a ride home…." House slurred on the other end. Wilson held back a sigh, knowing that House needed him.

"Where are you?" he asked, knowing already. But he was standing by his earlier decision not to act like he knew what was happening.

"I'm at the bar…you know where Sherrie's is, right? Can you come and get me?"

"Yeah…sure…I'll be there in a few minutes. Wait for me at the door." He made sure to emphasize the meeting place. He wanted House to see him outside, wanted to get the night over with as quickly as possible. Wilson smiled when he heard House agree to the meeting place. Hanging up, he quickly jotted down a note for Amber, noticing how it was practically identical to the one she'd left him before the rewind. He left it where she would see it and left the apartment.

He pulled up in front of the bar a few minutes later, relieved to see House leaning quite heavily on his cane just outside the door. Leaning across to open the passenger side door, he waved for House to get in the car. His friend limped closer, sliding into the car and shutting the door.

"You're not gonna be upset with me if I throw up in your car, are you?" he asked, looking drunkenly at Wilson.

"Yeah, but I'll understand," he answered, pulling away from the curb and turning the corner to get onto the side streets.

"Where are you goin?" House asked, looking out the window.

"I'm taking the side streets to your apartment. It's faster than taking the main road," he lied. Thankfully, House seemed to buy it, but Wilson figured he'd believe almost anything in his current condition. Roughly ten minutes later, he pulled up outside House's apartment, getting out of the car and moving around to help his friend.

"Thanks," he said, leaning more on Wilson than his cane as they made their way to his front door. Wilson didn't answer as he led House in and forced him down on the couch.

"Stay there. I'm going to get you some water." House nodded as Wilson went towards the kitchen. He came back less than a minute later with a tall glass of water. "Drink it," he instructed. House nodded again and took the water, sipping at it slowly. Wilson sat down next to him and turned on the TV, immediately checking the news.

It was just as he'd feared.

The news cameras were showing the wreckage of the doomed bus, and Wilson could hear the sirens of the ambulances and see the paramedics as they loaded up the wounded. A sigh of relief forced itself past his lips and he slouched on the couch, glad to have averted that particular crisis.

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Well, thus ends another exciting chapter! I have half a dozen plot twists planned for this story, so stay tuned!


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter 4**

"You sure you're going to be fine?" Wilson asked, handing House another glass of water.

"As fine as someone looking forward to a massive hangover can be," House answered, gratefully accepting the water. He still felt like something was wrong, but at the moment, he had no choice but to chalk it up to being totally sloshed. "Go home, Wilson…"

"Not until I'm sure you're not going to hit the scotch and crash on the couch as soon as I'm out the door." Wilson gave his friend a hard look, made slightly less so by the oncologist trying, and ultimately failing, to hold back a sneeze.

"One, I have no scotch. That's one of the reasons I was at the bar. Two, even drunk, I know my leg can't handle a night on the couch." When Wilson sneezed, something clicked. "You sneezed…" he accused.

"Once. It's been on and off all day. It's just the flu. Or the cold."

"So? You're sick. And you still came to get me? That's…" House trailed off, looking away into the middle distance, frowning as he thought.

"What best friends do for each other. I'll be fine with sleep and hot liquids. Which I've been getting all day. You, on the other hand… You got the keys to your bike taken away."

"So, the man who needs to be needed doesn't need anyone to take care of him?" House challenged, setting his half-full glass of water on the coffee table, frowning harder as he stared at his friend.

"I wasn't going to make Amber stay home to take care of something I can easily handle. I _am_ a doctor too, you know. I _have_ had colds before. You know that. You're just looking for something to argue about because you're drunk." Wilson frowned slightly. "And even if you were completely sober, you'd still only be looking for something to argue about…" he added before turning and walking towards the door. "I'm not in the mood tonight to feed your need for conflict. Drink your water and go to bed. I'm not going to stay here all night."

House rolled his eyes, which made the room spin only slightly and he had to raise his hands to his temples to steady his head until the sudden bout of dizziness wore off. After a moment, he did as he was told, reaching for the water and drinking some more of it. His head had stopped swimming for the moment, but was still pounding, and he couldn't concentrate on the issue. Something was still wrong, and he couldn't figure out what it was, couldn't even think about it. He set down his water and clutched his temples again, fighting back the throbbing pain in his skull and the wave of nausea that overcame him. When he was sure he'd forced it back, he reached for his cane and stood up.

Another wave of dizziness swept over him, and he nearly stumbled backwards onto the couch again. House swayed slightly and the nausea returned. He couldn't quite fight it back this time, so he limped towards the bathroom, leaning heavily on his cane. He barely heard Wilson moving to follow him, and didn't bother to shut the door before he collapsed over the toilet.

"You knew you were going to be sick…" Wilson chided from the doorway with an exasperated sigh. He had tried, and failed, many times to understand how or why House would do this to himself. Mixing his Vicodin with his scotch was an overdose waiting to happen. Of course, the older doctor had already once suffered the consequences of mixing drugs and alcohol the previous Christmas, and had also temporarily lost Wilson's support as a result. "You can't keep mixing your painkillers with booze, House… remember what happened last time? If it happens again, you know I won't come back…" Wilson sighed again. The self-destructive behavior of drug addicts was going to kill him someday, and that was the last thing that Wilson wanted to see happen to his best friend.

House didn't seem to have heard a single word that Wilson had said, didn't even appear to try to answer when he wasn't emptying the contents of his stomach.

"You sure you're okay, House?" Wilson asked quietly. He didn't know whether to be relieved or slightly put off when House vaguely nodded in the affirmative.

"Fine…" he muttered, trying to force himself to stand, hoping his alcohol-saturated body would cooperate. "Go home to your girlfriend…" he said when he finally stood again, leaning against the countertop and looking straight at Wilson. His face was pale and he looked much older than his forty-eight years.

"You're not okay, House, and I'm not leaving until I'm sure you are. Amber understands that you were here first, and she knows that I'll take care of you if I have to. She doesn't accept it, but she understands it… our friendship comes first."

"That's what destroyed all your marriages, isn't it…?" House asked semi-viciously, looking around for his cane and spotting it about a foot and a half away. "You spent too much time with me and not enough time with your wives, and that's why they left you…"

"House, they all left me because I cheated on them…" Wilson answered, leaning over to grab the cane and handing it to its owner. "Not because I put our friendship first."

House was only slightly touched as he grabbed his cane and leaned on it. "That's sweet, Jimmy, really, I'm touched… Go. Home." He stumped past Wilson and turned into his bedroom, still slightly swaying drunkenly.

"House… you can't keep doing this to yourself. You're forty-eight years old. I'm surprised your liver still works after nine years of narcotic use and heavy drinking…"

"Dammit, Wilson, I told you to go home. I know exactly how old I am, and I know exactly what I'm doing to myself." He turned slightly to face his friend, giving the young oncologist a dirty look, seemingly uncaring of the look of concern in Wilson's eyes. "I'm fine. I'll have a huge headache in the morning, but at least now I can't feel my leg. I'm fine now, and I will continue to be. Now, this is going to be the last time I tell you… go home." Without even waiting to see if his friend would listen this time, House turned back to stumble towards his bed, dropping his cane on the floor alongside it as he fell face first into the pillows and instantly fell into a deep sleep.

Wilson sighed heavily, partly glad to see that the older man was asleep, but also worried. Wilson had no way of knowing how much Vicodin House had taken tonight, and thus had no way of knowing how likely an overdose would be. He hesitated a moment longer, just to be sure that House was breathing as he lay there, before he turned and made his way out of the apartment. He turned off the TV before walking out the door. He shivered slightly as he walked back to his car.

_Maybe it's better I do go home,_ he thought as he climbed into the driver's seat, fastened his seat belt and started the engine. If Amber had made it home, she'd have found his note, but she'd also probably be watching the news. And if she found out about the crash, she'd worry that he had been involved. He had to show Amber that he was okay, so he kept that thought in mind as he drove home.

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wow.... this took FOR-FREAKING-EVER to get written... and anyone who may have caught on that there will be more plot twists and thinks they've figured it out are SO wrong, because I just changed the ending... I'll try to get more chapters out soon, but I can't exactly make any promises. For anyone who's reading Golden Afternoon, I will NOT be updating it until I know what the readers want to see happen. Vote in my poll or there won't be any updates to that fic!


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